Working Girls
by Professor Catface Meowmers
Summary: Mrs. Hudson has had enough of the bedlam that is 221B and goes to visit her sister, leaving her niece, Angelina, to look after the housekeeping duties. When Angelina stumbles across a case of disappearing female factory workers its up to Sherlock, Watson and Angelina to find the Working Girls. Holmes/OC.
1. Introduction

Working Girls

Intro: Mrs. Hudson's Correspondence

Summary: Mrs. Hudson has had enough of the bedlam that is 221B and goes to visit her sister, leaving her niece, Angelina, in charge of the housekeeping. Angelina soon uncovers a mystery: female factory workers are disappearing. Its up to Holmes, Watson and Angelina to find the working girls. Holmes/OC

A/N: This is my first story, hope you enjoy it! Please review!

Disclaimer: None of the Sherlock Holmes characters/settings are mine. Angelina and the other original characters are mine.

_April 10, 1890_

_Dearest Sister,_

_I hope this letter finds you in better health and spirits than I. Your poor sibling has found herself at her wits end. My nerves are frayed and I cannot find a moments peace! Mr Holmes has been between his cases now for three months and as I have told you in the past, my Elizabeth, woe on all of us if Mr. Holmes is idle for any length of time._  
_Just the other day, I found him down in the kitchen cooking something. When I asked him what it was that he was doing, he replied that he was conducting an experiment on week old fish from the market to determine how long they would boil apart or some such nonsense! Well, I said, he could take his horrid fish and conduct his experiments out of the kitchen and away from the food for supper. Of course my pleas went unheeded. The house stank for two days!_  
_I have begged Dr. Watson to do something about Mr. Holmes, find him a new case or take him to a show, something. But poor Dr. Watson informed me that he has already tried, that Mr. Holmes did not want to go out and that Holmes was in one of his moods. _  
_Well, he certainly is in one of his moods, sister! Playing the violin at all hours and if the neighbors complain to the police again about gunshots in the middle of the night I don't know what I shall do!_  
_Today I brought him some tea to try and make him eat something - though why I try still, Elizabeth, I do not know. He was in the upstairs parlor wearing a very large, long red wig and an apron! At my dismay he simply commented, "Surely, Mrs. Hudson, this is not the oddest thing you've found me at," and it certainly was not._  
_I do not know how much longer my poor nerves can suffer these vexations. Dr. Watson does what he can but we must pray, as horrible as it sounds, for something terrible and mysterious to happen in the city, so that Mr. Holmes may find himself occupied once more._

_All my love to the family,_  
_Your devoted sister,_  
_Martha_

_-_

_April 18, 1890_

_Martha,_

_Words cannot begin to express how much I sympathize with you and your situation! I too have found myself at my wits end and it is all Angelina's doing. Just guess what I found her doing this past Thursday! _  
_Every Wednesday and Thursday, she goes to all on the Greenes down the road. (You know the family, their children are about Angelina's age. Lovely, upstanding family.) Well, after Angelina had gone down to visit Lily Greene, I decided I should call on Mrs. Greene herself in hopes of furthering our planning of the Parish Easter Social next week. I was seated in the front parlor with dear Mrs. Greene and just commenting on the fine weather when Mrs. Greene inquired after Angelina! She said it had been weeks since my daughter had come by to visit the twins and hoped she was well! Stunned, I replied that Angelina was in fine health but did not elaborate on my shock,not wanting Mrs. Greene to know I did not know the whereabouts of my own child._  
_Only later did I find out that Angelina has been training with the county doctor, Dr. Harris to become a nurse! A nurse, dear Martha! Can you imagine such a thing in our family? As if Angelina has not given us enough trouble already these last 3 years!_  
_When I confronted her that afternoon, she confessed to it all, saying that Reverend White's wife (remember? she is the former Miss Josephine Baker) has encouraged this dream of hers and takes Angelina to visit the parish sick and infirm! I think we can both say we are not surprised at Mrs. White, who has always struck me as prone to somewhat improper and scandalous ways. That the rector of our parish should have such a wife is beyond all my consideration!_  
_Oh Martha! I fear I shall never see Angelina married at this rate. When I expressed how justifiably upset I was that your niece would expose herself to the horrors of sick bodies and birthing rooms and who knows what else, she laughed! At her poor mother. _  
_I asked her "Won't you settle down and marry a nice gentleman? Tom Greene is a good boy and is training to be a lawyer!" But she said that she wanted nothing to do with Tom Greene or his "ridiculous" sister with her "silly" name! And after shocking her mother to pieces, she left the house at once on her horrid bicycle for tea with Mrs. White._  
_That is when I came up with an idea that will solve both our problems of nerves and wits. You shall come stay with me in Bath (Mr. Brandon isn't due back from India for another six months so we will have all the more fun!). I will send Angelina, the willful child, to take care of your housekeeping duties. She needs to learn to keep a house if we can ever hope that I shall ever acquire grandchildren. And I simply cannot have her in town any longer. The church's Ladies Auxiliary is still scandalized by her actions at the Christmas luncheon and I am sure the neighborhood is a twitter over her careening about the streets on that bicycle with Mrs. White and Dr. Harris. _  
_Write to me at once, Martha, with your confirmation of our plans. Do not hesitate for a respite will do us both a world of good._

_Ever yours,_  
_Elizabeth _


	2. Chapter 1: She Arrives

**Disclaimer: Refer to Prologue chapter**

**A/N: When I posted the last chapter, I expected to be able to post this one immediately after, but two jobs and school threw that out the window. BUT! Today, I'm graduating from Graduate Hell- I mean school- and will still be left with two part time jobs but also a bit more time on my hands to make regular updates. Send me a graduation present by reviewing! **

**Chapter 1: She Arrives**

Angelina Brandon arrived at Charing Cross Station on a Tuesday in April at half past three in the afternoon. The train ride had been remarkably smooth and pleasant, having had set off from Bath early that morning. Stepping down from the rail carriage, careful to keep her clean traveling dress and coat away from the sooty cars, Angelina gazed at her surroundings with ill-concealed excitement. London! Since she turned 14 all she had wanted was to travel to London. And now, at 24, here she was.

Angelina quickly employed the help of one of the station attendants near the baggage car.

"Which trunk will be yours, Miss?" the younger boy inquired as they picked through the large collection of steamer trunks, carpeted and leather bags, and boxes being unloaded from the car by burly men in dusty, grey caps.

"Oh, it shouldn't be hard to spot. It is a dark green and I also have - ah! There it is!" Angelina pointed with her parasol at a large, slightly worn forest green trunk that sat next to a brand new bicycle. Each of her items bore crisp, cream-coloured tags attached, proclaiming that they belonged to a 'Miss A. Brandon" (though any attempt to actually identify the luggage via these tags would prove difficult as Angelina's script was indecipherable at best).

"Oh, will that bicycle be yours, Miss?" Asked the porter as he stooped to pick up her trunk and turned to peer uncertainly at Angelina's riding contraption. Angelina, for her part, was pleased to see that the porter's skeptical visage seemingly resulted not from the idea that a young woman was in possession of a bicycle but that he didn't seem to know how to gather her oversized luggage _and_ steer the thing out of the station. Miss Brandon's mother had insisted that bringing a bicycle to London was "not done," and refused to accompany Angelina to the train station as _anyone_ from her church social group could happen by and see Mrs. Brandon in its presence.

Smiling to ease the porter's hesitance, Miss Brandon set her hat box on top the trunk in the porter's arms, tucked her parasol under her elbow and firmly took hold of the bicycle's handles. "If you will lead the way, sir? I'll follow with this," she nodded to her full hands. "I am in need of a hackney.

Once aboard a hired carriage, after the driver had some difficulty securing her bicycle to the roof, Angelina called out to the driver, "221B Baker Street, please!" and she sat back, flush with excitement.

Dr. John Watson prided himself on being a very reasonable, affable gentleman and absolute professional, even in the most trying of circumstances. From his time as a medical doctor, particularly with the Army, many experiences, no matter how dreadful, did not so much as ruffle him or unduly unsettle his nerves. However, not even the most difficult or trying of his life and professional experiences could have prepared him for residing with Sherlock Holmes. Particularly, when the consulting detective developed one of his _moods_.

In less medically enlightened times, Watson might have been pressed so far as to attribute Holmes' moods to a chronic case of unbalanced humors. But as this was 1890, not 1590, he reminded himself that his taciturn roommate suffered instead from an acute case of a brilliant mind with nothing to do.

As Watson returned to Baker Street just in time for luncheon after making a house call that morning, he noted Holmes' window curtains were drawn and, compared to the other windows facing the street the window panes were beginning to take on a particularly dusty and greyish quality.

Sighing, Watson walked through the front door and into the foyer where he handed his overcoat, hat and doctor's bag to the waiting Mrs. Hudson. "Good Afternoon," the doctor greeted cordially to his housekeeper, having left most regrettably without breakfast that morning, and thus was addressing Mrs. Hudson for the first time that day. "All quiet this morning?" He indicated with a pointed glance towards the stairway.

"Oh yes, thankfully, Dr. Watson!" Mrs. Hudson nodded, hanging the overcoat and hat on nearby stand. "There was a bit of thumping about after you left but I just paid it no mind as you suggested."

"And what time can we expect your niece Miss Brandon?" Watson followed Mrs. Hudson into the downstairs dining room.

"Oh Angelina, I expect, shall be here by tea time." Mrs. Hudson moved towards the sideboard laden with food. "I suppose I should fix _him_ something to eat or else he shall be an intolerable nuisance all day." Mrs. Hudson began to fix a tray for Holmes.

"And you are quite certain I cannot retrieve Miss Holmes from the train station, Mrs. Hudson?" Dr Watson asked, watching the housekeeper pile some watercress sandwiches onto a plate, wondering if she was serving them specifically because she knew how much Holmes despised watercress.

"Oh don't trouble yourself. Angelina has always been a headstrong, independent girl. Much to her mother's distress, however. She insisted on coming on the train and arriving here alone!" Mrs. Hudson shook her head at the impropriety of it all, as if she could not quite believe she and Angelina were related. "Woe to anyone who gives her trouble," Mrs. Hudson picked up the tray filled with luncheon offerings. "One would think she believed herself to be a man, what with all her modern notions and gallivanting about the street without even an escort."

Noticing the slightly put upon look her face, Watson relieved the housekeeper of the edibles. "Not to worry, Mrs. Hudson. I shall bring up the food. I'm sure you have quite enough to do in preparation for Miss Brandon's arrival."

Mrs. Hudson was only too grateful to pass this duty off to Watson and allowed him the dubious honor. Watson carefully traversed the stairs to Holmes' door, took a large gulp of tea from the cup meant for his roommate and, not bothering to knock, opened the door. He squinted into the darkened rooms before cautiously entering.

"Holmes?"

The room appeared empty. There was a large, ostentatious red wig sitting on the desk and newspapers, bottles and other paraphernalia strewn about the room. Seeing that Holmes was not occupying the sitting area, Watson removed the offensive wig (by tossing it from sight behind the settee) and placed the lunch tray on the desk in its stead.

Watson then strode over to the windows and flung the heavy curtains open, until he noticed that the illumination did nothing to improve the shabbiness and clutter of the room, and quickly shut them again.

"Holmes?" He called again, moving to the door opposite the one he entered. Pushing on the door, only to find his entry barred, Watson jiggled the handle most insistently.

"Holmes! Wake up at once! What _are_ you doing in there, it is nearly one!" Watson knew all too well that to impose social norms and expectations on Holmes, such as the proper time to awaken, was an exercise in futility. Nevertheless, the doctor could not help, despite having lived with Holmes for so long, but to fall back on his social graces and breeding when faced with Mr. Holmes' lack-thereof.

"Holmes." Pushing the door once more to find whatever had blocked its opening has now dispatched itself, Watson shouldered his way into the room only to discover the crumpled, rumpled form of his roommate laying on the floor at his feet. The sickly sweet smell of body sweat, smoke and, of course, illicit street intoxicants permeated through the air.

Once Watson had transferred his slightly addled friend back to his bed in the corner of the small room, he looked at Holmes with some annoyance but mostly a good amount of irritation and exasperation.

"Holmes." He nudged the prone body. "Holmes, you aren't fooling anyone, you know." Holmes opened his eyes, the grey irises somewhat dulled by insomnia and recent ingestion of drugs. "Good," Watson pretended he did not notice the vials on the dresser or Holmes' rather horrifying stench. "Now, have you found the letters Mrs. Hudson left you the other day?" Gesturing at the unopened envelopes scattered across the foot of the bed, Watson sighed.

Holmes made only a noncommittal noise - clearly the correspondence had not been opened so where was the object in pretending niceties?

After reading a few to Holmes, who subsequently rejected each with a sigh or indignant groan, Watson stood and walked back towards the door. "Well Holmes, you needs must find something to occupy your time. Find a case and stop your sulking. You've put the entire household out of sorts." _Not that you care one wit_, Watson silently added. Really, one would think Watson didn't have better things to do than mothering his roommate.

"But I do have a case." Holmes croaked, finally deigning to speak above a grunt or nod. "Right at this particular moment in fact. I've taken enough of this cocoa leaf powder to fell a small boar. Now I am forcing myself to remain awake for a week and-"

"Good grief, man!" Watson exclaimed, thoroughly exasperated by this point. "I mean a case where you do not ingest copious amount of illicit substances and stop bathing for three weeks!"

"Really, Watson perhaps you should calm yourself. You are becoming quite a particular shade of crimson." Holmes mumbled from his prone position.

With a long suffering glance towards the ceiling, Watson flapped his arms once and turned once more towards the door. "You are to get out of that blasted bed and make yourself presentable, Holmes." Watson spoke evenly. "You are to shave your whiskers and be ready to come down to tea later. Eat something, for God's sake."

Holmes perked up a bit, his grey eyes clearing somewhat. "Why, particularly, tea time? What's so important? You're not forcing me into the company of your Mary again, are you?"

Watson pinched the bridge of his nose. "Because, Holmes, it is Tuesday."

"So?"

"Tuesday, the 26th?"

"Really, Watson, what today has to do with drinking tea, I have no-."

"Today is Tuesday, which I told you repeatedly last week was the day that Mrs. Hudson's niece will be arriving to stay for a few weeks and act as housekeeper in Mrs. Hudson's stead while she goes to visit- Oh never mind you were probably insensible to it. Her niece is due by tea time and we are to go down and meet her." Watson turned to eye Holmes over his shoulder. Holmes was sitting straight up in his bed, his hair and shirt tails ragged, his legs and arms akimbo.

"What! Mrs. Hudson is leaving us? What the devil for?"

"Because she needs a rest and is going to visit her sister." Watson explained. "Now try to make yourself look decent, Miss Brandon will be here in a few hours. And do try to be civil to her, Holmes." Watson narrowed his eyes at the other man, who looked close to developing a _huff. _

"I object to this sudden upheaval of the household, Watson! Who is this random, most likely distant, relative of Mrs. Hudson? She will in all probability be insufferable and never serve the correct things for luncheon and-"

Watson closed the bedroom door behind him. Despite his whinging, Holmes had stumbled out of bed and seemed to be propelling himself towards a state of dress. Now in the outer sitting room, he paused to pick up the teacup from the lunch tray and drained it before returning down to the dining room to commence his midday meal. Listening to the thumps and banging noises from the floor above him, Watson sighed and hoped Miss Brandon was made of sterner stuff than her aunt.

Sally Pickford did not know where she was. Nor did she know what day of the week it was or how long she had been there. All she knew was that she had been snatched from a side street one day early April while walking home and sent to live at Madame Magpie's. More accurately, Sally was sent to Madame Magpie's to work.

Sally wasn't stupid, though she had attended very little school in her youth. She knew there was little chance of escaping The Magpie brothel. She and three other girls, all of whom had arrived just days prior to her own abduction, were kept in a small, windowless room that locked from the outside. It was evening and the Madame's regular girls would arrive soon to prepare Sally and the other three for the nightly clientele. Then it would be nonstop torment from 9 o'clock to 4 in the morning when she was finally allowed to return to the windowless room and sleep off the night's events and the opium Madam Magpie dosed the girls with to keep them docile.

Sally wondered, as the _clomps_ of Magpie's regular girls came down the hallway, which would come first: madness or death. For something surely had to come of the seemingly endless nighttime cycle, and Sally had long ago given up on being rescued.


	3. Chapter 2: Our Characters Meet

**A/N: Sorry its been so long! My laptop is on its last legs and I've been unable to post. Its off to the doctor tonight to see if they can at least salvage my hardrive. So if there are some issues with this post, grammer/spelling-wise, it is b/c I've been typing this chapter on the sly on other people's computers, haha.**

**Hope you enjoy it, please review! It will totally make my day! [Also, can you spot the few other pop culture references I've been writing in?]**

Chapter 2: Our Characters Meet

Angelina alighted from the hired carriage before the driver had time to dismount from his perch and offer his hand. She had glimpsed many famous sights on her short journey from Charing Cross station and was excited to discover her new living arrangements in the heart of town. The hackney had even driven through Piccadilly Circus, much to Miss Brandon's delight.

Atop the cab, the old driver unfastened Miss Brandon's luggage and lowered them down, reserving a bemused raised eyebrow for the young woman's new and prized bicycle. Angelina gathered her parasol and hat box and turned towards the house marked 221B as the front door opened to reveal her Aunt Martha hurrying down the steps to greet her.

"Oh my dearest niece, you've made it at last! And just in time for tea as well, how fortuitous! Tell me, was the journey simply as trying as I've imagined? Did you reclaim all your luggage?"

Angelina laughed as she embraced her Aunt Hudson and pulled back to clasp her by the elbows, as the pair spoke on the sidewalk before the front gate. She noted silently that, although it had been many years since she had seen her, Aunt Martha was just as fretful and prone to punctuating even the most boring of sentences with exclamations as ever. Much as her own mother was liable to.

"Oh Aunt Martha, it was fine, simply marvelous!" Angelina explained, giddy from travel and from finally reaching her destination. "All was well and I made friends with a young scientist fellow on the train. He has recently completed school at Oxford and is conducting a fascinating study on bees!" Angelina explained as she hooked arms with Mrs. Hudson and walked towards the front door. The cab driver had succeeded in wrangling Miss Brandon's trunk and bicycle and followed the women up the walkway.

"Oh dear, a scientist," Mrs. Hudson replied. "Do not tell your mother, you know how she disapproves of your associations - Ah! But here is Dr. Watson!" The ladies crossed the threshold and met John in the foyer. Dr. Watson had changed from his visiting clothes and greeted the women with a warm smile.

"Dr. Watson, this is my niece, Miss Angelina Brandon," Mrs. Hudson introduced. "Angelina this is, as you know, one of my boarders, Dr. John Watson."

"Miss Brandon." John gave her a smart half bow, formally inclining his head and smiling warmly.

"Oh please, do call me Angelina, Dr. Watson," she held her hand out, surprising John. "I will be keeping the house fro my aunt in her absence and do not see why we must be formal."

Taking her hand in his, John shook it and noticed the young woman had a very firm grip. He wondered whether what few stories Mrs. Hudson had told him of her niece were indeed true.

"Well then you must call me John. Or simply Watson as Holmes prefers," John chuckled. A distant part of his mind reminded him that the young Miss Brandon had not met the other resident of 221B and hoped that tea would not be excruciating or embarrassing when Holmes decided to _grace _them with his presence.

After the luggage had been deposited into the front hall and the carriage driver paid, the three moved into the front parlor for tea. Once seated, Mrs. Hudson began to serve refreshments and to press Angelina for news on her sister's health and the latest goings on in Bath. No sooner had Angelina informed her aunt about the latest parish gossip, all the while keenly aware that neither she nor Dr. Watson cared one whit compared to that of Mrs. Hudson's interest, than the sitting room doors burst open, causing Mrs. Hudson to gasp loudly, and a tall, slightly rumpled man ambled in.

"Oh! Mr. Holmes, you have arrived." Mrs. Hudson commented, having recovered herself.. Angelina could not help but notice her aunt's observation was accompanied by an almost inaudible sigh.

"Indeed," said the man, Mr. Holmes, as he surveyed the company before him. Mrs. Hudson and Angelina were seated across from him on a coach with John sitting in a nearby armchair. "I was informed my presence was required at this particular tea time and as the walk was not far, I was able to arrive down here in a timely manner despite the brevity in which I was informed of this occasion." He shot a pointed look at Watson and moved stiffly over towards the other three, who rose from their seats.

"Yes, well. Mr. Holmes, this is my niece, Miss Angelina Brandon," Mrs. Hudson turned towards her niece. "Dear, this is my other boarder, Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

Holmes surveyed the young woman with critical, grey eyes. "Miss Brandon," he half bowed as Watson had before, though it looked slightly less polished in his bedraggled state.

"Oh Mr. Holmes, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Angelina smiled and put forth her hand again to shake. "Please call me Angelina as I have asked John here. We will, after all, be living here together in my aunt's stead and I can never abide excessive formality." Which was true, and it also appeared that Mr. Holmes did not bother with formalities nearly to the extent her Aunt or Dr. Watson did.

Holmes looked at her outstretched hand for a long moment before shaking it and taking a seat in the only other seat available in the parlor, nearest Angelina. Holmes suspected this was Mrs. Hudson's doing as she knew he would sit in a far corner if available seating allowed. Angelina, for her part, noticed that Mr. Holmes did not extend the same offer of calling him by his Christian name as John had.

"What is this about your impending absence?" Sherlock asked of Mrs. Hudson, helping himself to his favorite oatmeal cookies which he also suspected Mrs. Hudson served as a ploy to win his cooperation in this waste of time.

Mrs. Hudson fiddled with her sleeves absentmindedly. "Dear Mr. Holmes, I informed you ages ago. I am going to visit my sister, Angelina's mother, while my niece stays here to mind things while I'm away."

At this, Holmes noisily dropped his half eaten cookie on the small dessert plate in his hand and looked particularly put out. "Mrs. Hudson, a trip? For how long? I must say I am a bit irked by this information. When you mentioned a trip to me last Tuesday I believed you to be threatening me so that I would cease my experimenting on Watson's doctoring tools -"

"I say, Holmes! Again?" Watson exclaimed, but went unheeded.

Up until now, Angelina had believed her aunt's long letters of complaint against Mr. Holmes to be a bit exaggerated. Certainly she could see he was a little eccentric and odd, but surely not as bad as all that. Now she was beginning to see her aunt may, for once, have not exaggerated. Really, was this something to argue over during tea? One would think he didn't want her there.

"It will only be for a few weeks as I said," Mrs. Hudson explained patiently. "And Angelina here will take over my duties and make sure you are taken care of."

Taken care of? Angelina wondered just what this might entail. She thought her duties would mainly be towards making sure nothing horrible happened with the house!

"Well I find this to be very off putting," Holmes put his plate of cookies on the table. Angelina noticed he had taken all the oatmeal cookies her aunt had made. They were her favorite and most likely made specially for her. Sighing she took another bite of her cucumber sandwich, wishing she had the bad manners that would allow her to snatch a cookie from his abandoned plate.

"Come now, Holmes," Watson cajoled with an air of forced joviality. "Mrs. Hudson deserves a restful holiday and Miss Angelina will prove to be refreshing and lively company, I'm sure."

"Well I'm not," Holmes retorted and folded his arms.

"I beg your pardon!" Angelina spoke up, unable to sit demurely as she was insulted. "But you do not know me, Mr. Holmes! I would thank you to reserve judgement as to my "lively" and "refreshing" company until you have sat in my presence for longer than ten minutes!" Thoroughly put out and insulted, Angelina gave up on enjoying tea.

"Oh dear..." Mrs. Hudson fretted vaguely, as if all her fears had been confirmed. Watson simply looked worried.

Holmes turned fully towards Angelina. He noticed her mouth was set into a thin, rigid line, indicating her perturbed state. Her auburn hair was pulled back off her neck and her curls, a little wilted from the long journey, trembled slightly from her anger. Her pale face flushed and she continued before Holmes could begin his retort.

"Furthermore, you have behaved very ill towards me, your guest. I should hope you do not act in such a way to all those you are newly acquainted with, one would begin to believe my aunt correct in that Mr. Watson is your sole friend." Without pausing for a breath, she turned towards her aunt. "Aunt Martha, I am very tired from the train ride. Perhaps you could show me to my room so that I may rest before dinner?" Angelina rose and took her aunt's arm. Dr. Watson rose with them, fighting what looked to be a smile. Holmes, of course, remained seated and looked offended at Miss Brandon's remarks.

"I hope to see you at dinner, Doctor. I would so like to hear about your medical practice." She nodded at Holmes almost as an afterthought. "Oh and perhaps we shall see you at dinner as well, Mr. Holmes." And with that, she glided out the parlor with Mrs. Hudson in tow.

Chuckling lightly, Watson sat back down and began to partake of the sandwiches with renewed vigor. Holmes was silent for a while, then:

"Watson, for how long will we have to tolerate Mrs. Hudson's niece" The detective ground out.

"About two or three weeks."

Sherlock slumped further into his chair. "And just what will we do with a silly young woman in our home? If she expects me to go to socials or hat shops with her, she is mistaken."

Watson sighed and looked over at his friend. "I hardly think she would ask you after you insulted her not five minutes after meeting her. Really, Holmes, I told you to be civil!"

"Insulted her! Did you not hear her monologue and diatribe against me?" Holmes looked scandalized and Watson began to wonder if his friend had dipped into one of his bottles before meeting them for tea. "This is what you forced me into a clean shirt for..." Holmes shook his head as his mind wandered off, leaving Watson to wonder if he should invite Mary for dinner so he could have a fellow spectator.

-

Mrs. Hudson showed Angelina to her third floor bedroom, which, unbeknownst to Angelina, was located above Sherlock's. Angelina did not rest as she had announced in the parlor but instead unpacked her belongings and settled into her room.

Later, after changing from her traveling dress and into a dark, modest evening dress, she contemplated what the next few weeks would hold. Angelina knew she would get on very well with Doctor Watson, who seemed like a good natured fellow and could possibly help advance her medical education. Perhaps he could even purchase Dr. Fallot's treatise on Blue Baby Syndrome. When Angelina had attempted to purchase it in Bath, the shopkeeper had refused to sell it to her and Dr. Harris had not the time before she left for London.

Mr. Holmes would be another matter entirely. According to her aunt, Holmes was a brilliant detective and a sought after consultant for Scotland Yard. So far, Angelina had yet to see evidence of these claims. She'd witnessed only a sour and rumpled man with poor manners and an ever poorer regard for those in his company. Perhaps he was between cases, as her aunt had written, and this accounted for his ill mood.

Angelina was also aware that her aunt had not described her boarders very well in her correspondence to her mother. She believed her mother was under the impression that Watson and Holmes were older gentlemen and posed no threat or impropriety to Angelina, or, more importantly, to Angelina's reputation. Under no circumstances would Mrs. Brandon have allowed her daughter to keep house for Aunt Martha's boarders if she'd laid eyes on the men. The fact that Mrs. Brandon had not inquired to their ages or marital statuses, Angelina chalked up to willful ignorance. Mrs. Brandon wished to have Angelina out of her hair and social circle for a whole and Angelina was all too happy to oblige her in this, impropriety or not.

The fact of the matter was not only was Holmes not old (and Watson as well, she added to herself, but he hardly mattered as he was due to be married very shortly), but Holmes appeared to be in his mid-thirties. That he appeared to be unattached came as no surprise to Angelina in the slightest.

Laughing at this last thought, Angelina walked down to dinner.

-

The next morning after a light breakfast with her aunt and Dr. Watson, Angelina found herself in the downstairs kitchen with Mrs. Hudson and the part-time cook, Mrs. Taylor, going over her responsibilities. During breakfast, after inquiring as to why her services were required when they had Mrs. Taylor, Watson had laughed and informed her that Mrs. Taylor refused to come in for full days work after she'd found Mr. Holmes broiling cadaver fingers in the kitchen one afternoon.

"And," Watson looked as though he was endeavoring not to roll his eyes at the memory and Angelina passed her aunt a napkin to fan herself as she came over faint at the ideas of cadaver bits in the oven, "We are not allowed to find another cook because Holmes is convinced Mrs. Taylor makes the best mulled wine and roast in town."

Now in the kitchen perusing the detailed list Mrs. Hudson had written up, Angelina was beginning to suspect the real reason Mrs. Taylor refused to take Mrs. Hudson's place in her absence was because Mr. Holmes seemed to be the most particular and demanding boarder she'd ever hear of. He had particular likes and dislikes about everything from the way he prefered the laundress to startch his collars to the amount of shoe polish he required to be applied to each shoe.

"Of course," Mrs. Hudson added, seeing her niece's skeptical expression. "You will not be requried to perform even a fraction of these particular tasks to Mr. Holmes' liking. But I thought it prudent to include everything I could think of to insure a smooth transition.

Angelina also learned she would not be required to do as much cooking or cleaning as she originally surmised. Mrs. Taylor came every morning at seven to prepare breakfast and stayed through luncheon, where she would prepare dinner, if required, and Angelina would alter complete the cooking or baking. Three times a week, Mrs. Taylor's daughter, Edina, came to clean the house. Angelina soon learned that "cleaning the house" did not include the rooms of Mr. Holmes.

"Now my dear, I leave tomorrow morning from Charing Cross at 8 am sharp. Mr. Watson will accompany us to the station and see that you arrive back home safely. Please do not wander about the city, Angelina. Bring Mrs. Taylor or the Doctor with you, so your poor old aunt may rest easy knowing you are safe in the unfamiliar city."

Angelina smiled at her aunt's request, already planning to visit Covent Gardens as soon as she could leave the house unescorted.

-

Dinner that evening was a quiet affair, attended only by Mrs. Hudson and Angelina. No one bothered to find Holmes when meal time arrived and Watson went to dine out with Mary.

Angelina assured her aunt later, as they sat in the cosy back parlor, that she would not get herself into trouble, that she would not ride her bicycle up and down the street where any of the neighbors could see (lest they think her a working class girl), or that she find herself at odds with Mr. Holmes too often.

"Better to let him go about his way, dear. As long as it is not too ridiculous, of course." Angelina doubted whether her aunt really knew her niece at all, but agreed to all her requests.

The next day her aunt would be packed off to visit Mrs. Brandon and Angelina, at last, would have the freedom to do as she pleased.


	4. Chapter 3: A Carriage of Convenience

**Working Girls**

**Chapter 3: A Carriage of Convenience**

**A/N: Sorry this is so late guys! I finally got a replacement for my dead laptop and I had to move apartments in the middle of Mardi Gras (the worst). Hope you enjoy!**

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The next morning Angelina awoke early and breakfasted with her aunt and Dr. Watson, who was to accompany them to the train station. During the meal, Mrs. Hudson was a flutter with last minute reminders and requests. Only when Angelina served her a cup of fresh Assam with a tipple of gin snuck in did Mrs. Hudson calm somewhat. She couldn't be sure, but Angelina suspected Dr. Watson had seen her "doctor" the beverage and was glad he became a willing accomplice through his failure to report on her.

No sooner had they finished breakfast did Dr. Watson, at Mrs. Hudson's insistence, call for a carriage to take them to Charing Cross. ("Better early, my dears! 'Tis better on my poor nerves!")

The hired carriage made excellent time through town despite the morning hour and Angelina was able to catch sight of more London landmarks compared to her previous ride between the train station and Baker Street. She privately resolved to explore the city as much as possible during her stay. She knew that if her mother had her way, Angelina would not see the outside of respectable parlors and tea rooms and would firmly deny her daughter any opportunity to advance her education.

At last they arrived at the station with plenty of time to spare and settled Aunt Martha into her train car. About 45 minutes later Dr. Watson and Angelina waved Mrs. Hudson and the train off, but not before Mrs. Hudson called out some last instructions from the car window as the train chugged slowly out the station. "And for God's Great Mercy, don't let Mr. Holmes bring that wretched-," but her final admonishment was lost in a shrill blast from the train and she was gone.

With the station full of engine soot and smoke, Angelina turned to the Doctor and decided, with a sigh, "Well, I say we return home and partake in a well deserved cup of tea."

"Excellent idea, Miss Angelia." Dr. Watson offered his arm to Angelina and the two departed to call another carriage outside the station.

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In the return carriage home, Dr. Watson couldn't help but notice Angelina starting intently at him as if phrasing a question in her mind. He adjusted his lapels and cuffs nervously and cleared his throat in an effort to appear at ease in her silent gaze of his person. Passing through Piccadilly Circus, Angelina spoke up, having evidently made up her mind to speak after all.

"Doctor..." She started,

"Yes, Miss Angelina." He asked pleasantly, curious what was on her mind.

"Doctor... Now that my aunt has departed... Well- Do you think you could purchase a few journal articles for me? Medical articles, I mean."

This caught Watson by surprise. "Medical journal articles?" He asked. This seemed to propel the young woman verbally forward.

"I can pay for them, I have the required money needed. And I have a list of the journals here," she broke off to rummage about in her reticule before producing a much folded slip of paper containing 11 journal articles. Bewildered, Watson accepted the paper as Angelina continued. "I especially need the first two on the list: the one by Dr. Fallot and the second part to von Behring's paper on the diphtheria antitoxin. Oh, it's been so difficult to find these in Bath! I was banned from Kelly's Medical Lending Library when I quested number 8."

Watson scanned the list and noted, his cheeks coloring, number 8 on the list was a somewhat radical gynecological study from Belgium.

"Yes. Well." Watson cleared his throat. Best to stay as professional as possible in these sort of situations. "May I ask...why you are in need of such thorough medical studies?"

Angelina raised her eyebrows from across the carriage. "Why, you do not know! Dr. Watson, I am a nurse!" She looked down and amended, "Or, well, I will be once I have completed my training. Did you not know? It is why my mother sent me away."

"Because you are a nurse?" Watson, though not as progressively inclined in some issues as some of his fellow doctors, could not deny the valuable presence of female nurses in hospital wards. He did know that many did not consider it proper for ladies of certain social class to be subjected to the indelicacies of medical work and consequently wondered of what Mrs. Brandon had been thinking in sending her daughter to London of all places.

"You were sent away because you are a nurse?" Watson reiterated.

"Because mother believes I will become distracted in the city. Distracted from my intended profession by- oh I do not know- polite and proper society, I suppose! She was terribly embarrassed when it was found out that I was training behind my mother's back." Angelina laughed and Watson was given the impression that the opportunity for rebellion against Mrs. Brandon provided Angelina just as much satisfaction as nursing did.

"Will you, Doctor?"

Watson was shaken from his musings by her expectant question.

"Will I?"

"Purchase the journals in my stead?"

Watson could not ignore the hopeful and expectant look on the woman opposite him. "I suppose I shall have to," he informed her. "I would regret word reaching your mother of your being tossed out of London's lending libraries if I neglect to assist you."

Angelina smiled broadly at him as the carriage pulled to a stop at 221B. "Oh thank you, Dr. Watson! I knew you would help me, a man of science such as yourself." Which left Watson feeling rather pleased with himself, having always maintained that women could benefit from education equal to that of men. But then, as he helped Angelina from the carriage, he remembered article number 8 and blushed all the more.

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Later that afternoon, Angelina slipped out the front door with her straw, beribboned hat and sensible parasol. She admittedly did not know why she left under such subterfuge, her aunt was well on her way to Bath and Dr. Watson was off to see patients, but she tiptoed out the door all the same. Mr. Holmes could possibly have stopped her leaving, she supposed as she walked her bicycle from its station hidden behind some shrubbery. But as she set off down the road, parasol tucked under her arm, she would have been shocked if Mr. Holmes had deigned to inquire about her whereabouts at all.

She soon found herself in Hyde Park. It was a beautiful day in London and Angelina promised herself to write home to her dear friend, Josephine, on all she had seen so far. After a short ride around the northwest edge of the park, dodging passerby and carriages, Angelina was pleased to note that no one seemed to give a fig about her bicycle riding proclivities. London seemed to be so very progressive compared to Bath, and Angelina was determined to take full advantage.

On the return trip home, a group of women hanging posters along Oxford Road caught her eye. As she slowed to gain a closer inspection, she could see the posters advocated a women's group.

"Excuse me," Angelina pulled her bicycle to a stop and addressed the group of women. "What is it you are advertising for?"

An older woman, perhaps not yet 45 with tightly curled dark hair and kind expression, turned, "We are members of the Women's Franchise League. We are holding a meeting next Saturday."

"Why, the WFL!" Angelina exclaimed, elated. The Women's Franchise League was a group for the advancement of women's suffrage. Angelina had read all about them at its inception the previous summer, much to Mrs. Brandon's disapproval. Angelina had been very disappointed to learn the WFL was not extending a chapter to Bath, much to Mrs. Brandon's relief.

"Ah, heard of us have you, my dear?" The woman smiled genially. "Well, come to the hall next week and register to become a member. We always welcome new, energetic members for the cause." The woman handed her an advertisement stating all the relevant details.

"I will, thank you! I have been deeply interested in joining such a forward-thinking group for some time," Angelina carefully folded the paper into her pocket, mounted her bicycle and with a final "Good afternoon!" To the assembled ladies, pedaled back towards Baker Street.

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That evening Angelina sat down to dinner with Dr. Watson. The meal was excellent in that she had managed to successfully finished its preparation according to the cook's specifications and she had had a quite enjoyable day in the absence of her relatives. No matter how dearly she loved her family, she was forced to admit they had the tendency to be rather ridiculous.

"Miss Angelina," Dr. Watson started as they finished their course of soup. "Do tell me more of your nursing training."

Angelina smiled. "Well, to be honest, I quite assumed Aunt Martha had read you all my mother's correspondence detailing what a brazen child I was! And here I am, surprised to find you knew nothing of the sort!" Angelina rose to help herself to the roast on the sideboard. "I've been training for almost a year now with Dr. Harris, a local physician in Bath. He took me under his wing when he realized I was sincere in my desire to become a nurse."

"How marvelous," Watson praised from his seat. "That you would have the initiative to find training in the absence of a local nursing education establishment."

Angelina laughed lightly and sat down again. "Oh there are available opportunities for women to train near Bath, Dr. Watson, however my mother would never have allowed it. I am convinced she is under the assumption that yourself and Mr. Holmes are two old widowers who pose no threat to my maidenly virtues or could pose any scandal to my already somewhat tarnished reputation!" Angelina paused to grin broadly at the man across from her. "Let us not disabuse her of this notion. She would have me on the first train back home and poor Aunt Martha so deserves her holiday."

"Quite, Miss Brandon, quite so." Watson chuckled. "And perhaps you would be willing to accompany me to see a few female patients next week? For academic purposes, of course."

"Oh Dr. Watson, that would be simply lovely!" And Angelina tucked into her food with much elation.

As Angelina served the dessert of pie and tea while chatting amiably about Dr. Watson's fiancé, Mary, a noise at the door alerted them to a presence at the dining room door. It was Mr. Holmes, looking particularly careworn and rumpled. Angelina noticed his eyes were bloodshot and his hair greasy, though his shirt was tucked in and only slightly wrinkled.

"Holmes, man! Good of you to join us, just in time for dessert," Dr. Watson interrupted the awkward pause that had dominated the room. "Take a seat and I am sure Miss Angelina could be prevailed upon to serve up another slice of Mrs. Taylor's pie."

I could serve it onto his lap, Angelina thought in passing as she drew another dessert plate from the sideboard. But the thought passes quickly and she silently served them all before sitting down once more.

After another pregnant pause in which all three occupants surreptitiously eyed one another, Dr. Watson inquired about the rest of Angelina's day.

"I took a turn about town on my bicycle, it was lovely." Angelina replied.

Watson looked ready to speak further on the subject until Holmes interjected quite unexpectedly. "Yes, Miss Brandon, I spyed you leaving this afternoon. Find any nice tea parlors or hat shops?" Under usual circumstances this would not have ruffled Angelina in the slightest. But Mr. Holmes seemed to indicate something rather disparaging in his seemingly innocent query. As if she was the kind of young woman to spend all day in frivolous tea rooms with other vapid young women. As if in that one sentence, Holmes implied he knew exactly what kind of woman she was. How insulting!

"No, actually, Mr. Holmes," Angelina endeavored not to glare at the man. She was in polite society, after all. Even in Dr. Watson was the only other person available in the room who counted for "polite society." "I explored a northern portion of Hyde Park and- and returned home." She could not be sure why, but she simply could not bring herself to tell the two men in front of her about her contact with the WFL. She was by no means embarrassed by her pending membership as some women were, but something told her Mr. Holmes would use this to mock her even further. Dr. Watson, she feared, for all his acceptance in her nursing, would worry over her gallivanting about town unattended.

"Hyde Park, eh?" Holmes perked up, his grey eyes moving over her. "Yes of course, I see."

"What on earth do you mean, of course you see?" She asked somewhat irritated.

"Holmes," Watson warned, though he sounded weary, as if he expected this conversation to be inevitable.

How strange, Angelina mused.


	5. Chapter 4: A Letter and A Room

**Chapter 4: A Letter and A Room**

**Disclaimer: see chapter 1.**

**A/N: Gasp! Can it be? A chapter so soon?! Stop the presses, you guys! Review, my loves!**

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Mrs. Josephine White  
The Belmont Street Rectory  
Bath, Somerset

Josie,

Dearest, this is the first opportunity I've had to write you since my arrival to Baker Street. London is an explosion of life, if you forgive my literary exaggerations. Everything here seems to be a mash of the old and the modern. Just today I cycled down old Oxford Street and met a group of progressive women advertising their suffrage group! It is simply marvelous here.

The men my Aunt rent to are not old and infirm after all (though you mustn't tell my mother). The doctor, John Watson, is a very admirable man of medicine and has agreed to help me further my studies! I am also to be introduced to his fiancé, Mary, who seems to be a lovely, agreeable lady as well.

The other man Aunt Martha houses is The Dreaded Mr. Holmes. Although you and I often giggled over Martha's long missives in the subject of this strange man, I am beginning to discover that perhaps she was not as hyperbolic as previously assumed. Mr. Holmes in person is positively a fright! He rarely speaks to me at all and is constantly in a state of undress, or mis-dress I should say for he always has clothes on but seldom are they clean or starched.

This evening he came to the dining room as Dr. Watson and I sat down to dessert. I imagine he had been hiding in his rooms all day, doing what I have no idea, Josie. Then he proceeded to... deduce -there is no other word for it- me and my character, coming to a manner of assumptions about me based on a glance upon my person. It was the most peculiar experience, I assure you. It was nearly alike the "soothsayer" we visited when the circus came to town last summer.

"You have obviously been riding your bicycle, recently, Miss Brandon." He started while poor Dr. Holmes feebly warned him to "not go too far this time, Holmes." "Your hair has become creased from your hat brim and you wear your skirts slightly higher than normal, to accommodate the gear and pedals. You come from modest but comfortable means, therefore you have never worked a day in your life. You come from a house of two or three servants and you are an only child, or at least an only daughter. You do a great deal of bicycle riding and knitting, probably for charity?"

He paused at this, ending on in a question at which I realized my eyebrow was arched most incredulously and belatedly noted it was my turn to enter the conversation.

"Mr. Holmes," I glanced over at Dr. Watson but he of course was no help, as he seemed determined to not join in. "I had not realized my aunt had discussed me at length to her boarders."

And the blasted man chuckled at this and assured me that he was not aware of my existence until two hours before my arrival to London! To which I replied, "then how, pray tell, did you come to these conclusions, Mr. Holmes?"

"By simple observations of your person, Miss Brandon. As I pointed out, your hair and skirts reflect your bicycle proclivities. Your manner and posture reflect that you are not of the lower classes, never mind what I know of Mrs. Hudson, but no family of the upper classes would allow their unmarried daughter to travel unescorted, nor preside over a house filled with bachelors. I therefore conclude from this that your father has a profession, perhaps a tradesman?

"In any event, you certainly knew how to set tonight's dinner table but were not able to locate the proper carving utensils for the roast in the kitchen. Something, I suspect, Mrs. Taylor omitted from the meal instructions as it is of a second nature to her."

At this moment I am sure my face was as red as my mother's ridiculous frilly bonnet, but not out of embarrassment as I am sure was assumed but the two men, but by ire, Josie. And he was not finished!

"I know you are certainly the sole daughter in your family by your jewelry," he continued. "It is old. Not so old that it was purchased a few years ago and no money could be found to upgrade your accessory options but your necklace and brooch are of a style popular 40 years ago, an heirloom from your grandmother. You could not be an older sister for you have more than one old piece of antique jewelry about your person and surely a sister would insist upon sharing in Grandmother's trinkets. As for the excessive bicycle riding and knitting, the callouses on your fingers say it all. You have slight callouses from holding thin instruments repeatedly however as I said before you have not be forced to endure a long day's work for your general features are not careworn or tired as happens to factory girls your approximate age." And with a satisfied air he tucked into his dessert.

I had never been more taken aback, Josie, for you know it takes much to ruffle me. Never had I heard so many half-truths bandied about based on flimsy assumptions!

"Well, Mr. Holmes!" I found my voice. "It seems you have formed quite a theory about me, an acquaintance of yours nearly 24 hours old. Perhaps I should not disabuse you of the validity of these so called observational facts." I was pleased to see this caused the smirk to fall from his face.

"I am an only daughter from a modest family, you are correct, and my father is a merchant currently in India. While I have little experience in meal preparation, the lack of proper carving instrument is entirely your fault, Mr. Holmes." I was pleased to notice he choked on his tea at this. "Mrs. Taylor informed me this afternoon that you made off with her carving knives during your last investigation. Do not fret though, sir, she assured me you could keep them for she feared using them again after you stole them." And really, who could blame her? By the sound of it Mr. Holmes was perpetually "borrowing" things from the kitchen for his experiments. "Yes, my jewelry is from my grandmother but you are wrong about my hands. They are from my work with patients. You see, I am studying to be a nurse. I was the sole assistant for the local physician and as such was frequently required to assist in medical procedures using his thin, metal instruments." I paused and almost as afterthought noted, "Thought I do knit when I am able." And instead of walking out the room as I so desired to do, I offered Dr. Watson more pie. You would have been proud of my nerves, dear. Holmes had nothing to say after I corrected him and the rest of dinner passed in silence.

When I arrived in my rooms later that evening I laughed myself silly. To think, this is the man whom Scotland Yard relied on for cases! He does not know a progressive woman when confronted with one and I am almost sorry for correcting him.

In the topic of progressive women, I am to attend a suffrage meeting next week! I wish you could be here to accompany me, it shall be very strange going without you for you have been my guide in all this from the start. I shall write you soon, Josephine, and tell you all about the women's club so that we may start our own chapter in Bath when I return.

All my love to you and Mr. White,

Angelina Brandon

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Sally Pickford was certain she had been trapped in the Magpie brothel for at least a month, if not longer. It was nearly daylight out and she and her fellow abductees had been herded back into their dingy room not long before. Sleep alluded her. The heady concoction of opium the Madame gave her paired with the port wine her clients insisted she drink with them swirled in her leaving her restless and jittery.

Sally found it was in the early morning hours that she thought about home the most. Her cramped three room flat which she shared with four other girls sat near the lacemaking factory she worked for, or at least had worked for, for certainly her job had been given away by now. The other girls she lived with in the flat must surely have wondered where she had gone off to. They must have. This was her only hopeful thought as she laid on the old, thin mattress in the far corner of her cell, that her roommates surely suspected something had gone awry and were at this moment looking for her. Otherwise, who else would sound the alarm? Her employers at the factory wouldn't bother, girls came and went from that place, some even before you knew their names. She had no family left that she was aware of. Her father had died long ago in a shipbuilding accident and her mother slowly drank herself to an early grave last winter.

The fetid air in the small room did little to lull Sally to sleep. Everything was stale and musty and she and the other girls hardly bothered to keep the room tidy. Two mattresses laid side by side in the far corner from the door was all that the brothel provided them to sleep or sit on. Next to the door was a chamber pot, though the girls endevored to wait until they were let out at night so that their prison room did not become worse.

Sally tried not to think about how shameful it all was. Though she was not a stranger to relations, having once thought herself in love with Daniel Higgins from the old neighborhood. To be sold out to these vile men night after night weighed heavily on her spirits and her conscience. Each night when the hired brothel girls tarted up Sally and her fellow abductees, it was all she could do to resist tearing the frilly scarlet stockings off and scrubbing her face clean of rouge.

But they made no attempts to escape, not after what happened to June. June had been in the room for quite some time, longer than Sally. The opium had driven her nearly mad and one night, not two days after Sally had been shoved into the room, June attempted to escape.

"I won't be left here to be rutted on 'til I die!" She had exclaimed as they listened to the men laughing downstairs in the parlor. When the Madame's regular girls came not ten minutes later to prepare them, June dodged and ran down the hallway towards the stairs. One of the regulars, Mimi, had the presence of mind to slam the door shut before Sally or one of the others could attempt the same.

In their room, sitting on their old mattresses, Sally and the other three girls who were left behind could hear the clatter of feet flying down the stairs, followed by June's shouts for help.

Then there was silence. A short time later a peculiar sound arose from the floorboards. It was, Sally realized with horror, the faint noise of men jeering from the direction of the parlor. This was followed by a horrible wailing which could only be June.

Sally sat there, crying, unable to get the horrible mixture of wailing and excited, cruel shouting out of her head. So she began to sing, for the other girls locked in with her had begun to weep and Sally feared they would all go mad if they only listened to the "entertainment" down below.

_O the times are hard, and the wages low, _  
_Amelia, whar' you bound to? _  
_The Rocky Mountains is my home, _  
_Across the western ocean._

_That land of promise there you'll see, _  
_Amelia, whar' you bound to? _  
_I'm bound across that western sea, _  
_Across the western ocean._

In the beginning Sally did not realize what she sang, only that her voice rose until it covered all outside noise. Only once she started the second verse did she recognize that it was an old song her father had taught her not long before his accident. She sang it hollowly, she knew she was no great voice, but she did not stop. And when she finally stopped it was long after those downstairs had grown silent.

Sally and the other girls did not see June again and the Madame and her girls made no further mention of her, for there was no need. June's screams and the clientele's taunting was enough to keep the imprisoned girls meek and docile.

That had been four weeks ago, maybe more. The regular brothel girls talked of fresh skin coming to work soon and Sally took it to mean more girls would soon join her and the others in their cell of a room. Who would go as mad as June next, however, was anybody's guess.

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**Oh, Angelina. I was very nervous to write the deduction parts! And poor Sally! We will learn more about her and the other girls soon. (Also, I hope all this posts correctly. I've had issues with formatting lately)**


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